The Hunt
by zosimos
Summary: Sceptre of Flamel: Roy has gotten a little bored of their diet.


"You know," Roy said as he pressed a cloth to Edward's flesh shoulder to staunch the flow of blood. "They do make this device called a gun, Fullmetal. It is _especially_ useful when hunting."

Edward winced, tilting his head away from his shoulder. "Must be bad, you only call me Fullmetal when you're angry at me."

"It's - I am not angry at you, Ed, there is a lot of blood-"

"I'll be fine," Edward grunted. Roy made a noise of frustration, his hand already sticky with blood welling through the thin cloth. "'ve had worse."

"Not that I've seen."

"I'll be _fine_," Edward repeated firmly. His left hand was still holding tight to the shattered shaft of his spear; the rest of the weapon was buried in the front haunch of the young buck that had run off. He covered Roy's hand with his automail one, trying to pry it gently from his shoulder. "Trust me, Mustang - it's already healing."

Edward checked Roy's eyes. He was still in the habit of trying to shield his emotions from Edward, despite the fact that it was just the two of them. Edward was slowly breaking him of it - the worry on his face over Edward's slight wound was all the evidence he needed of progress.

Slight wound was maybe an understatement. The buck had gored Edward pretty good. He tried to keep the grimace off his face as he peeled the rag - torn from the bottom of Mustang's ratty coat - off of his bared skin. It took time for wounds to heal, particularly bad ones could take a few hours. Just because it could not kill him did not mean that the pain was any less. However, his arm was still attached to his shoulder, and the muscles all still worked right. He very slowly tried to rotate his arm and gave up when he could barely lift it.

"We have to go back," Roy said firmly.

"Fuck that," Edward said. "You're the one who wanted something different for dinner, and I am going to finish what I started. Either you can help me, or you can stay the fuck out of my way." He tried to use the shattered spear shaft as to get to his feet, but his left arm was just not cooperating. Edward snarled in aggravation as he fell back against the tree, pain shooting down his arm.

It was autumn now. The air was cooler but not cold, and the trees had begun to shed all their leaves. The forest ceiling above them was full of brilliant reds and golds, lanced through with the late afternoon sun. They had been living in that small forest cabin together all summer, surviving off of fish and small game that Edward snared. It was peaceful here, away from the military that was still hunting Roy; and safely away from the angels. Edward knew that they were not hidden from the gaze of the Triumvirate ... but no one had disturbed them.

Roy was doing well. He was adapting. Out here he did not fall into the same melancholy he would in Resembool. Perhaps most astonishing of all to Edward was that he talked to Edward like he was an equal here. There was no more military protocol to get in the way, there was no subordinate and superior officer, there was just Edward and Roy depending on each other for their survival.

Edward tilted his head back against the tree trunk and stared in aggravation up at the fall foliage. "If you say it, I am going to punch you," he said to the leaves. "And as my good hand is currently out of commission, that means the automail, Mustang."

"And you certainly don't bother to pull your punches anymore," Roy said. He crouched beside Edward so Edward could sling his automail arm over Roy's shoulder to help get to his feet. "We should go back, Ed. We can wash out the wound at the lake."

"It's fine," Edward said, now on his feet he didn't need Roy's help to maintain his balance. "A little dirt and leaves never killed anyone. Besides, I am going to use that fucking deer's head as a coat rack. We need a coat rack. Winter's coming."

"You can _not_ be serious."

Edward rotated his arm again, and this time was able to do a full rotation, although he still could not keep the wince off his face. "The fucker couldn't have gotten far, I put half a spear through his chest. He probably staggered off to die, and with my bum shoulder I'm gonna need you to drag the carcass back to the cabin."

"Goody," Roy muttered sarcastically. "Is that why you brought me along? To watch you get gored when you try to attack a deer and then carry it back to camp?"

Edward jammed the spear's shaft into the fresh loam. It was not built like the spears he normally used, instead of rearranging different base elements to form metal he instead took existing wood and transmuted that. It was why he had not expected the shaft to shatter - and why the buck had caught him off guard.

He clapped his hands and formed the remaining chunk of wood into a smaller throwing spear, about the length of his arm. "Ideally, you were going to help me _hunt_it," Edward grunted, pulling his new, smaller weapon from the ground. "Didn't realize you'd be this useless."

Roy gave him a dark look. "I'm hardly useless."

"You forgot your gloves, and you throw a spear like shit."

"I have not needed my gloves in weeks, Edward, and if you would stop being so obstinate and tell me why you were dragging me all over creation I could have _fetched_ them."

They glared at each other. Edward bit his bottom lip and broke the eye contact first, looking away toward the ground. He had gotten good at stopping the really spiteful insults before they had a chance to escape his lips, but he had not gotten good enough to stop the thoughts altogether. He hated so much that he had these awful thoughts about Roy, that there was this layer of mistrust under everything that they had been through. He knew it was Roy in there, he knew that Samael was dead ... but there were still doubts.

Worse yet, he knew that Roy knew. Roy knew why there was hesitation sometimes in Edward's voice, Roy knew why Edward had bit his lip and looked away, Roy _knew_.

And he just accepted it.

Edward took a deep breath and looked at Roy. He tried not to register the hurt that Roy was trying to mask. "You're the one who was sick of rabbit," Edward grunted. "I am not gonna let some damn coyotes take our meat."

"Then let me help," Roy said softly.

"You throw a spear like shit, Mustang," Edward said. He ambled over to the center of the clearing, where his own blood still shone, thrown across some rocks and a tree. The buck had crashed through the underbrush and left a pretty blatant path for them to follow.

Edward stepped up on a rock as he plotted a path through the broken branches, his mud-caked boots leaving familiar footprints. He almost did not sense Roy stepping up on the rock behind him. "So teach me how, Ed."

He looked up at Roy, standing behind him and ready to support him. Edward grinned. Despite all of it, despite everything, Roy was still there. Edward jumped down off the rock ledge, boots sliding in the loam and leaves as he took off down the hill after his buck.

After only the barest hesitation, he heard Roy follow him.

* * *

><p>Prompt #5 of 30<p> 


End file.
